


o the cunning wiles that creep

by kyrilu



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Drugged Sex, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew just wants to touch, that’s all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	o the cunning wiles that creep

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Brownham Week, a little bit late - Day 4, kink.
> 
> I legitimately wanted to write something fluffy tonight, but, well. This is...the worst thing I've written in terms of consent issues, and I guess this is me owning up to my id.

In the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Will is used to being given medications. For his encephalitis, he is treated to a cocktail of drugs. An orderly has to watch him to make sure he takes the pills and the liquids, and has to check his tongue to find out if he’s hiding any pills underneath.

He doesn’t notice that his orderly’s eyes follow the length of the throat as he swallows. He doesn’t notice how intently his orderly peers at him as he cranes his head up to examine Will’s mouth. He should have noticed, but he didn’t.

He’s too preoccupied with the phantoms and ghosts that he has brought into the hospital with him. He dreams of the stag. He dreams of Abigail Hobbs by the river, who turns to smile at him. But she doesn’t have an ear, and she starts to fall apart right in front of his eyes, individual body parts crumbling. Her other ear, her blue eyes, her limbs, her scarred neck…

Will wakes with a lump in his throat that he thinks is her flesh.

 

* * *

 

“You have nightmares,” his orderly tells him, standing outside of Will’s cell. He is nearly on the line that divides the cell from the walkway, the line that can’t be crossed.

Will watches him, impassively. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know his orderly’s name. He hasn’t bothered to read the name tag on his chest, even though he’s been in his care for several weeks by now.

His orderly continues, “You don’t tell Dr. Chilton about them.”

“Is that a recommendation?” Will says, with a raised brow. If it is, he doesn’t agree. He wouldn’t...share, not when it came to Chilton. Chilton has already decided that Will Graham is crazy; Will Graham is the monster and manipulator that he has been identified as.

“No,” his orderly says. “Just an observation. You do know that he bugs the cells here to high hell, don’t you?”

Will knows that. “He’s never brought up my nightmares."

“Hmm,” his orderly says, with narrowed eyes, looking up at Will through his eyelashes, “I wonder why.”

He leaves, trailing down the hall, leaving the sound of keys jangling behind him.

 

* * *

 

Will dreams that he is disintegrating like Abigail Hobbs. He looks down at his skin, and he’s exposed, he’s vulnerable, ripped apart across the sinews and bones. He is separated into pieces. Black feathers are blooming in the spaces in between, but they don’t make him fly. He is turning into--

There is gentle pressure on his chin. He recognizes it as his orderly’s touch. The same touch that leads him down hallways, across doorways, and restrains him. He opens his eyes, entering into wakefulness, but his heartbeat is still beating erratically, panicked.

“Shh,” his orderly says, softly. “It’s okay, Mr. Graham. I’m here. I have something for you. _Shh._ ”

Will’s lips brush against his orderly’s fingertips and against a tablet. _Medication?_ he thinks, numbly, and wonders if Chilton has been observing his nightmares after all. He’s too disoriented to wonder why his orderly is in his cell now. This is another thing that should have given him pause, given him fear.

“Just a sedative,” his orderly says. “It’ll make the nightmare stop, Mr. Graham. I know you want it to stop.”

He parts Will’s mouth open with his hand, puts it under his tongue. “Swallow,” he says.

Will does, obediently, blindly. He realizes that he’s trembling. He doesn’t want to be torn apart and reformed. He would rather be pulled, like Abigail, into nothingness, into death, and not transformed like this.

His orderly is sitting at the end of Will’s cot. It’s as if he’s waiting for something.

Somehow, it happens to be this moment when Will finally catches his name, reading the words off the badge on his chest. His name is Matthew Brown.

“Matthew?” Will asks. The edges of his vision is beginning to blur, colors smearing together. He can feel tiredness stirring inside of him. Weighing him down. Making him heavy. He feels as if he’s hallucinating drowning again.

Matthew smiles. He looks pleased at hearing his first name from Will.

“Look at you,” Matthew whispers. His fingers are on Will’s chin again, cupping it, stroking skin, and then they slip inside Will’s mouth.

Will can’t fight the intrusion. His body is slumping backwards against his control, unsteady, unbalanced.

“Wish I could tell you to lick them,” Matthew says, his knuckles brushing Will’s gums. Will chokes, gagging, but Matthew’s fingers continue to move inside his mouth. “But you’re too tired for that, unfortunately.”

Then he withdraws his hand, giving Will time to stammer, “You’re--”

Matthew looks at him. His eyes are dark, and there’s a hunger to them. This is a monster in this hospital who is not behind bars, who is not a visitor who Will used to have dinner with.

“N-no,” Will says, fighting sleep, futilely, and as if he's going against a river's current. _“Please.”_

He doesn’t want to be fucking violated again, not again. His perception is fogged and everything’s unclear and he’s drowning. The world is spinning, and his head is spinning. He doesn’t want to lose his grip. He doesn’t want this.

He plunges into blackness when he feels Matthew Brown’s fingers on his stomach.

 

* * *

 

Matthew just wants to touch, that’s all. It’s better for Will Graham, anyway, who is now quieter, submerged in a dreamless sleep. He arranges Will so that he's propped against a pillow, comfortably lying down amongst the sheets.

There is a scar, a bullet wound, that he maps out with his palm. Then he dips his fingers downward--Will is not in his jumpsuit, but only wearing a white t-shirt and boxers--and he trails over the shape of Will’s cock. It stirs underneath his touch, harder, and Will makes a sigh in his sleep.

Matthew closes his eyes, remembers how Will had said: _N-no. Please._ He remembers how Will had tried to writhe, and the patterns that Matthew’s hand had drawn inside Will’s mouth.

He slips down Will’s boxers. Will’s erection is warm.

Matthew’s fingers are still wet with saliva, and he feels them stray into his own boxers, against his own erection. Matthew strokes himself languidly, his breath tight and heavy, but he doesn’t finish himself off.

He murmurs, “Mr. Graham,” out loud, tapping his precome-streaked fingers on his tattoos when he decides that that’s enough of that. He pushes down his boxers.

He is lying beside Will on the cot, facing him. He moves forward, slowly, his cock brushing against Will’s thighs.

It feels good. The minute shift of skin on skin.

Matthew shudders, and maybe it’s his imagination, but Will seems to tremble back. Slowly, he starts to thrust, to grind, creating heat and friction on the plain of Will’s thighs. He can feel Will’s cock against his, and he can feel the hardness of it.

He catches himself wishing that Will was awake--that his hips would jerk, that he would struggle, and that he would say Matthew’s name, as he had for the first time. He looks lifeless and broken like this, but in a beautiful way.

He keeps moving: back and forth, back and forth. His orgasm is building, and Matthew shakes, thinks of his fingers in Will’s mouth, and when Will had choked and sputtered, _please--_

Matthew comes, spurts of white between their intertwined legs.

He leans forward to kiss Will on the mouth.

 

* * *

 

When Will wakes up, he doesn’t remember what happened in the night. He doesn’t remember the night, either, in the morning after that, and the morning after that. And the morning after that...

He doesn’t think about it. Maybe it has something to do with the tablet that his orderly gives him before bed.

All he knows is that he can sleep, dreamless.

 


End file.
